A Mile in Their Shoes
by Rhianwen
Summary: A trip down silliness in which young men and women volunteer to temporarily live the lives of the most widely despised Harvest Moon characters, to prove that they can blend in seamlessly and make the town a better place. Unfortunately...
1. The Start of Something Stupid

A Mile in Their Shoes

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Summary: A sociological experiment is conducted in which young men and women volunteer to temporarily live the lives of some of the most widely despised Harvest Moon characters, just to prove that they could do it "soooooo much better". Unfortunately, they invariably cannot.

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Disclaimer: The only characters I own are Rick-Bashing Karen Fanboy #26, Gray-Obsessed Mary-Basher #13, Elli-Bashing Doctor Fangirl, and Gina-Bashing Alex Fanpoodle, but even they exist everywhere there is discussion on Harvest Moon. Every time someone dares to voice their soft spot for cute glasses-wearing little Rick, Gina, or Mary, they will be there. Every time someone says they married Elli in the game and don't regret it, they will be there. Although, I mostly say that because frankly, I really don't want 'em. Oh, yeah; and I own Rhianwen, as I kinda am her. Mary-Sue alert! I don't own Bezo, as we do not have THAT kind of relationship, and I would totally be the submissive even if we did.

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It was not a good day to be Rhianwen.

How was it that this had seemed like a good idea at the time, back when she was posting around the message boards for volunteers, plotting out how this could be successfully accomplished, and glorying in the understanding and respect it would inevitably foster?

Now that she found herself pacing in front of the kitchen table within the tiny kitchen within the tiny student-family-residence apartment that she and her adored hubby shared, being eyed warily by said volunteers, her reasoning was beginning to, quite frankly, suck.

It had been simple: she had become a Harvest Moon addict in August of 2006, and the obsession had, to put it mildly, stuck. She had started with More Friends of Mineral Town, and grown very quickly to love all the characters that made the game as fascinating and charming as it was.

Next had come fanfiction, sprouting from her adoration of the little nurse Elli and a burning desire to expand upon the made-in-heaven romance between two adorably cuddly, work-addicted health care professionals.

After that had come, less wisely, the message boards. It had been a simple desire to chat with like-minded people about a shared addiction after her sweet, loving, and long-suffering husband began to automatically glaze over at the mere mention of chickens.

So had Rhianwen gone in search of fellow would-be farmers.

And so had Rhianwen's faith in humanity, barely recovered from the fannish absurdities and mean nature of the online Harry Potter community, been crushed and mangled just a little bit more.

_Ew, Rick is UGLY! He has GLASSES! Karen deserves BETTER!_

_Elli looks like a GUY! The Doctor secretly HATES her, haw haw haw! _

_Mary's a NERD! She should DIE! _

_Alex is MINE! Gina's an EVIL BITCH who tried to TAKE him from me! _

And so it had continued, until merely looking at her computer had begun an involuntary twitch in Rhianwen's left eye.

Logic was spurned by the bashers again and again, the suggestion that perhaps looks didn't matter to everyone as much as they did to teenyagers on the internet labeled flaming and fired back at her along with threats to tell the mods that she was being _meen_.

It had been something of a delight when one of the aforementioned moderators had shown up and laughed in the face of the prosecution.

Nevertheless, it had done little to remove the face-palming, head-desking stupidity of being labeled a _psychotic loser Rick fangirl_ for pointing out that the much-abused young man was only trying to take care of his family, and it didn't necessarily follow logically that he ATE BABIES or KICKED PUPPIES, just because he disliked Kai, allegedly the HAWTEST group of pixels in the game.

She had tried to suggest that even the commonly disliked characters had personalities and motives, and were probably likable to someone, but to no avail.

She had even gone so far as to suggest that when a person found themselves possessed of obsessive dislike of a character, they could try putting themselves in that character's place, attempt to work through for themselves what made the character the way they were, but had been met with a series of ill-spelt, capslock-abusing statements along the lines of I'D RATHER BE DEAD!

_Finally we agree_, Rhianwen had thought, but not said, as wishing aloud for the deaths of other board members would most likely be considered a personal attack.

Instead, she had turned off the computer in disgust and snuggled up to her long-suffering sweetie. After several minutes of vitriolic ranting, an Idea had planted itself in the irate little fangirly's brain.

If the character-bashing crowd couldn't utilize their teeny-weeny brains sufficiently to imagine themselves into the places of their most hated characters, perhaps she could help.

It was a simple matter; a touch of creativity, a little brutalization of the fourth wall, and the consent of the character-bashers themselves, and her dream could become a reality.

If it was simply too _painful_ for Rick-Hating Karen Fanboy #26 to imagine what could possibly make Rick a wee bit overprotective, perhaps he could experience it firsthand. With a little disguising of motives on Rhianwen's part, of course.

"I have an idea," she had said whilst in conversation with the aforementioned #26. "You clearly hate Rick a lot, right? Well then, for the sake of all of Mineral Town, why don't you step into his place and show us what you would do differently? Perhaps Rick himself can pick up some hints from you, and the game will become far more enjoyable to generations of gamers to come."

_I can't believe he fell for it_, she had thought, utterly floored and wondering if her seventh Mai Tai was to blame for what she was reading, when she had received #26's email, agreeing enthusiastically to her suggestion, nevertheless making it clear that she was a worthless sell-out and a loser.

Her success had repeated itself with a Mary-basher, an Elli-basher, and a Gina-basher, all of whom had been very anxious indeed to _prove_ to her that her own fangirlism for all three of these lovely ladies was misplaced, and just how much more she would like them when their roles were being filled by their greatest critics.

Those times, there was no alcohol to blame for possible misinterpretation.

And now they sat ensconced at her kitchen table, listening with expressions of detached teenager-ey disgust for anyone or anything over twenty, as she explained exactly what she would need from them.

"Uh, we have to take _notes_?" Elli-Bashing Doctor Fangirl #89 sneered. "I didn't agree to this so I could do _work_."

"Then I have some bad news for you about Elli," Rhianwen muttered, sending up an internal prayer for Stu, Ellen, and the well being of the Mineral Town clinic. "Look, I just need a few observations from all of you on how things are going. I don't want doctoral theses or anything, but I want your thoughts as they come to you."

"Fine," Gray-Obsessed Mary-Basher #13 huffed. "But I'm not filling the whole journal, and after we're done, I get to keep it to write poetry!"

"Just as long as I don't have to read it," Rhianwen agreed smilingly. "I'm not sure I could take all the w—angst."

"Yeah, well, you know what you promised _me_," #26 said, intending no doubt to come across as deeply foreboding, but instead achieving a high level of goofiness, due in part to the light refracting brightly off the grease in his face.

"Okay, fine, here's your book," Rhianwen grumbled, pushing a black leather carrying case with chrome handles and three jagged claw marks emblazoned in white across the table at him.

"This is it," he breathed in awe. "The special edition, hardcover, bonus material Whitewolf Character Creation Guide."

"And I've got sparkly nail polish and Hot Topic gift certificates for you three, as promised," Rhianwen added with a heavy sigh, addressing #13, #89, and Gina-Bashing Alex Fanpoodle #43.

"Yaay!" #13 squealed happily, until #89 and #43 elbowed her simultaneously in the ribs, at which point she dutifully resumed her snotty, bored, indifferent, slightly vapid expression of deep disgust.

"Let's just get this over with," #43 huffed, arms crossed, eyes rolling until Rhianwen made a mental note to call a priest the second she caught any hint of green pea soup erupting from the girl, or at the merest mention of the urge to do things with a crucifix.

"Okay," their hostess agreed brightly once she had assured herself that the phone was within easy reach. "I think we'll start with Rick."

"I'm not actually Rick!" #26 exploded, pounding his fist goofily on the table, lips drawing back in a snarl.

"I meant," Rhianwen explained slowly and as calmly as though she wasn't fighting back the urge to hurl a nearby blender at one or all of these kids, "that we'll start the experiment with the character of Rick. Meaning, you will go take Rick's place first, and we'll all observe the numerous changes for the better that you will _doubtlessly_ bring about."

"How are you going to do that?" he asked, grumpily curious.

"With my brand new Plot Device!" Rhianwen replied proudly, carrying a large pot over to the kitchen table and setting it down in the middle with a flourish.

#13 leaned in for a closer look.

"It looks like a slow-cooker."

"Yeah, well, you take what you can get." Rhianwen turned the device around until _Acme Plot Device 2001, _clearly painted on after the fact in sparkly blue nailpolish,was before the girl's eyes. "See? Now it's a plot device. So! #26. You ready?"

"Yeah, I guess," #26 agreed sulkily, arms crossed, leaning back in his chair until he was nearly horizontal.

"Geez, don't get so excited," Rhianwen muttered, already busily setting up her Gameboy Advance. "You'd never know the kid agreed to this and ordered me not to give away his spot. Okay!" she chirped brightly, setting the little game system in front of the boy. "Do you have any statements to make for the record before we begin?"

"Like what?" he demanded sullenly.

"Well," she began mildly, "you could start with exactly what it is you dislike about Rick, and exactly how you plan to improve upon his role."

"Rick's an ugly loser," #26 scoffed.

"That's a slightly subjective opinion," Rhianwen pointed out, wishing not for the first time that day that real people had the ability to sweat-drop.

"It's not subjective! It's pure and unalterable truth, because I say so! I even made an Official Seal saying that Rick sucks," #26 declared, smirking at her amid the twitters of the three girls, with a smugness that made it clear that he considered his arguments to be carefully constructed pictures of groundbreaking brilliance.

"Whatever you wanna believe, Skippy," Rhianwen sighed. "Now, all you have to do is hold onto the Gameboy, and spill your soda."

All four participants stared at her in utter bewilderment.

"Uh, what?" #89 finally managed.

Rhianwen pouted.

"Well, that's how people always get sucked into video games in bad self-insert fanfics."

"That's stupid," was #26's indispensable advice.

A toothy grin crossed Rhianwen's face.

"I saw a few stories where a girl tried to hang herself, or got hit by a car, or shot, or brutally dismembered, and woke up in Middle Earth. If you'd like, I can go get some rope, or bring the car around front. Heck, if you'd like, I just bought my hubby a brand new meat cleaver for our first anniversary!"

"Don't use my cleaver to murder teenagers unless I get to help!" Bezo's voice drifted in from his makeshift music studio.

"Fine," Rhianwen called back with a pout. A long pause. "Honey? Do we still have that sword?"

"Let's try the soda," #26 said hastily. "I'm not afraid of death – I embrace it, unlike _you_ sellouts – but I wanna read my Whitewolf book first."

"Then let's get with the spillin'," Rhianwen urged, going so far as to shake the boy by the shoulders until Mountain Dew began to splash out of the can and onto the Gameboy, as well as over the Cheetos he had demanded before he would go anywhere near her house.

The air filled with electricity too blinding to see through, conveniently blocking the girls' view of things far beyond the author's powers of description without making them sound more utterly ridiculous than anything else hitherto discussed.

When the smoke cleared, #89, #13, and #46 gasped in unison, and Rhianwen suppressed a joyous squeal.

Where #26 had previously been was now merely a soggy bowl of Cheetos, a puddle of Mountain Dew, and an abandoned Gameboy Advance covered with a thick residue of hair gel.

"O-kay!" Rhianwen chirped, beaming at the stunned trio of girls as she gingerly retrieved and wiped off her beloved game system. "Who's next?"

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End Notes: Okay, I promise this will have more to do with Harvest Moon in the next chapter. This was just the setup, and Rhianwen probably won't even appear again, so rest ye easy on that knowledge, dear readers.


	2. A Chump Among the Chickens

Chapter 2: A Chump Among the Chickens

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Day 1

My first day in Mineral Town. Don't know how that ugly cow Rhianwen did it, but I woke up this morning and I was the Chicken Loser.

But way cooler, because _I _don't have stupid hair and ugly classes.

Okay, so I do right now, but that's the Chicken Loser's fault. What a loser. He's so fuckin' ugly. And he's stupid. I bet that's because he's gay. I don't know how a loser like that got a hot girlfriend like Karen, while cool guys like me get turned down.

I bet he has some kind of Chicken Loser mind control. She totally shouldn't be with him. Maybe I'll tell her what's really going on, and tell her she should dump him.

And he's a total jerk to his sister, too. What kind of asshole tries to tell people who to date? No wonder she always yells at him when he tries to talk to her.

So far, things are cool. Kind of sucked when Mom came upstairs and pounded on the door to wake me up – it was only 12:30.

Looked in the mirror, and almost threw up. Hair is _clean_. Wearing _glasses_. And _colours_.

Never felt like such a sell-out.

Chicken Loser doesn't have anything cool in his closet. Wearing a dark blue three-piece suit and a trench coat because it was the only thing that wasn't orange or green or brown or some shit.

Everyone knows brown is for losers.

No one in the house has any hair gel, so my clothes look kind of normal, but my hair

Spent the rest of the day hanging out at the beach, but Karen didn't show. Going to be a pretty relaxing week, but boring as hell. No computer, or Xbox 360, or roleplaying books, or PS3, or anything. Chicken Loser doesn't even have any CDs. Just records, and they're all totally gay. Simon and Garfunkle, and the Beatles, and Herman's Hermits, and shit like that. He had some Stones, but like I'm gonna touch his records. I might get stupid Chicken Loser germs.

I'll bet Rick's the sort of asshole who wouldn't buy his kid the two-hundred dollar combat boots they really, really want, just because he already bought them a lousy full-length leather coat last month. The kind of creep who tells his kid that if they want to buy role playing guides, _crucial_ to creating the perfect character, they've gotta take a job to earn the money themselves.

Yeah, right, Dad. I'm not gonna be a fuckin' sellout like you. I'll sell my internal organs before I'll be a corporate puppet.

It took a while, getting used to only having one kidney, but that's just how dark and dangerous I am.

Don't even have my own TV here.

Repeat: no TV in my bedroom. What the hell does the Chicken Loser do all day, fuck chickens? He sure doesn't, like, do anything important. Who actually buys chickens in this game?

Chickens are for losers. Cows are where it's at.

At least the Chicken Loser is old enough to drink. I'm totally getting fuckin' loaded tonight.

* * *

Day 2 

Got up way too early this morning. Mom sent Popuri.

She's a lot cooler when you don't live with her. She just kept pounding and pounding on the door and yelling at me with her stupid, annoying voice. Like I didn't have enough of a goddamn headache.

Told her to fuck off, and she ran downstairs to cry to Mom.

Mom shouted up the stairs that if I wasn't downstairs in ten minutes she was letting the chickens loose in my room.

Thought she might let me go back to bed when she saw how sick I was, but she just started nagging me. She said Doug had been by to talk to her about my _disgraceful behaviour_ last night or some shit, and how he's letting it slide this time because I've never been a problem before. I thought she said something about Karen too, but I wasn't really listening.

I don't know what the hell she was talking about; I just had a couple drinks. I don't really remember how I got home, but I'm all in one piece, right? Couldn't have been _that_ bad.

She finally left me alone, so I went to the Supermarket to find Karen.

What's the point of having a hot girlfriend if you don't even get to talk to her?

Guess she's pretty busy, though, because her mom said she couldn't come out to talk, and told me to leave if I didn't have any business.

She seemed kind of pissy about it. Holy shit, you cow, I know the Chicken Loser is ugly, but it's not my fault. And your daughter's dating him, however the hell that happened. Maybe you should quit trying to tell Karen who is and isn't good enough for her.

What kind of shallow ho treats someone like crap just because they're ugly?

So I just went back home and started making up some character sheets. Did it all from memory, too. Bet the Chicken Loser couldn't do _that_.

I figure, I should bring _something_ useful back from this.

I don't think I'll hit Doug's tonight; I still feel kind of queasy.

* * *

Day 3 

I better go home soon. Seems like every day I'm here, Mom gets me up earlier and earlier. And finds something to bitch at me about.

Today, she was mad because I haven't been feeding the chickens and cleaning the coops. Hey, it's one thing for Rick to play in chicken crap, since that's what he is – man, even _I_ don't know where I get this material! – but she can't expect _me_ to do it. I'm a dark, dangerous badass, not some fat-cat corporate sellout who _works._ Told her to do it her damn self, and she started bitching again.

I don't get it; she seemed so cool when I was playing the game.

While I was feeding the dumb birds, Popuri spent the whole time getting on my case about _doing it wrong_, just because I might have missed some of the feedboxes a little. There were, like, sixty to fill – what'd she expect?

Then Mom came out and told me that Karen was waiting for me outside the Supermarket.

So I take off, thinking, yeah, finally, I get to the best part of living this loser's stupid life, hang out with a hot girl and show her what it's like to date a cool guy for once!

Didn't go too good.

Tried to apologize for being late and explain that it was because Mom was being a dumb bitch this morning.

She got really pissed, asked what the hell was wrong with me lately, so I told her how Mom and Popuri were both being fuckin' chore-Nazis. She gave me the same look Mom did when I told her to do the chores herself, and said she didn't just mean today.

So then _she_ starts bitching at me! Something about night before last at Doug's. She said I really upset Doug with what I said about Ann's mom.

Yeah, right. I bet she was just imagining it. Karen does kind of drink a lot, after all. And even if I said something, who the hell cares? Doug's a loser if he thinks that some old broad is going to make the futility and despair of life any better. If his wife carking it is all it takes to upset him, he should just fuckin' kill himself too, because he's a wuss.

So Karen's going on and on, _we've been friends for years, and I've never seen this side of you before, I don't think I like it, I'm really worried about you but I can't stick around to bail you out if you're not even going to tell me what's wrong. _

I tried to joke around, said that maybe it was just the stress of realizing I was the ugliest sonofabitch ever to walk the face of the earth, and she just rolled her eyes and said she was going for a walk.

I mean, we're dating and all, and I didn't want her to walk away mad, so I grabbed her, dragged her back, and kissed her, and she threw me across the street!

I thought my girlfriend was supposed to stick up for me, not break my goddamn nose.

I don't think she meant to push me that hard, because she seemed kind of surprised when I flew across the street and into a fence.

I guess she just doesn't know her own strength.

Then she dragged me inside the Clinic and told the nurse to get her boss to patch me up, then told me that if I tried that caveman crap with her again, she'd throw me off the pier into a jet engine, not into a fence.

God, she's hot!

So she left, and Elli, the nurse chick, said the doctor would be with me soon. But I guess _soon_ means something different here, because it was at least five minutes before the doctor finished with Barley.

While I was waiting, I told Elli that her hair looked kind of like a helmet, and asked if she had any hair gel I could borrow, so she gave me some Vick's brand stuff. I thought they just did medicine, but I guess not. It smells a little weird, but at least my hair doesn't look so gay anymore. Which is good, because the white plaster thing on my nose does.

Would have gone back to Doug's tonight, but my nose fuckin' _hurt_. Stupid doctor should have told me this would happen when the shot he gave me wore off.

* * *

Day 4 

Spent most of today working the farm's financial records. I asked Mom why the hell _I _had to do it, and she gave me a funny look and said that I always did it, and I said last week that I was going to do it today.

Stupid Chicken Loser. I bet he _knew_ I was going to come here, and he went out of his way to make his life especially miserable just for me.

Then Mom said maybe I had a point, and I've been acting strangely today and maybe it's stress, so she'd take care of it.

But shit, if Chicken Loser normally does it, it must be easy. Because he's stupid. Huh-huh-huh.

So I said I'd do it, but like I know what the hell do with a huge pile of receipts and books. I just kind of faked it, you know, wrote whatever in all those little spaces, but it still took me two hours. My pens kept running out of ink.

And like it wasn't enough of a pain in the ass, Mom told me to look over them again, because there was no way it could all be accurate if I did it that fast. See? Rick's just a stupid idiot loser who can't even add up some numbers. But I guess being sick makes you a real drama queen, so I humoured her.

Hell no, I didn't actually _look_ at it. That would have taken, like, another two hours. I just flipped through everything and pretended to read it, then gave it back again.

Great. _Now_ what am I supposed to do? I still have this stupid thing on my nose, and there's nothing good on TV. I'm not finished my new character sheets, but it's not the same without the guides. I need the pictures or I just can't head-click with my character.

Maybe I'll go to Doug's again.

* * *

Day 5

Goddammit! Why does wine give me such a headache the next day? I'm a seasoned drinker – I steal my dad's beer all the time - hey, I'm not trying to hide it. I don't pretty myself up for anyone, and if I'm too damn _real_ for you, that's your problem, not mine.

See? Like that. I didn't have to say _damn_ to prove my point, but the spirit just moved me, and I don't pretty up my language, either.

Head still hurts, though.

Bought a dog today. Rick hates dogs. That's one of the reasons he's such a fuckin' loser. Any idiot knows that dogs are man's best friend.

But I guess he's a Chicken Loser, not a man.

The dog's a big German Shepherd, and I named him Anakin. Popuri won't come near him. Maybe she doesn't want to get dog hair all over her or something. I guess that's fair. But what kind of stupid loser won't let a dog on the property because it might hurt the chickens?

Spent most of today with Anakin. Even took him to see Karen at the Supermarket, and she admitted he was pretty cute, although she got kind of mad off when he jumped on her and got mud all over her shirt.

Then I took him to see Elli, kind of saying thank you for finding me the only goddamn jar of hair gel in Mineral Town. She didn't look too happy – just because Anakin got a little mud on the floor and chewed up some papers.

What a snob. But she found me hair gel, so she's cool.

Mom let me bring him in the house tonight, but she made me clean his paws first. What the hell? Am I the only one around here who understands that dirt and grime are part of nature, and you should embrace the good with the bad?

Didn't get around to cleaning the chicken coops or feeding the birds today, but I figure, there's no one around coddling the damn things in the wild, so they can fend for themselves for a while.

* * *

Day 6 

Stupid fuckin' dog.

He slept on my suit and trench coat last night, so Mom made me change and put everything in the bag for the dry cleaners.

So now I'm stuck in some gay-looking brown pants and orange sweater, because no one bothered to clean the mud off Anakin's tail and fur.

Then I get downstairs and find out that while I was busy putting the finishing touches on my Dark Knight, Anakin was running around killing half the chickens.

And Mom says _I_ have to pay for them out of my own pocket! I told her, it's his _nature_ to hunt. He's not some docile little poodle, he's a _man's_ dog, and he's just getting in touch with his instincts. She said that's why we don't keep poorly trained _men's dogs_ unattended in the yard with a flock of chickens, and she was keeping my spending money until they were all replaced.

At least Popuri was too upset to come out of her room. I've had enough of that stupid cow.

* * *

Day 7 

I don't fuckin' believe this.

The second I got downstairs today, Mom started lecturing me about responsibility, and duty, and how asking for help is the most mature thing you can do.

I asked what the hell she was going on about now, and she gave me this evil glare and said that after I was finished replacing the chickens, I could pay for the medicine bills for another eight that were pretty seriously sick.

She thinks it's my fault because I forgot to feed them for a couple days, and I haven't cleaned the coops in a while. She said Popuri tried to do what she could, but she couldn't manage to get to everything without completely overworking herself.

I asked why the hell she thought _I_ should have to overwork myself then, and she started actually _shouting_ at me that she's tried to hire help before and I asked her not to, because I could take care of it and there was no need to spend the money.

Bullshit. I'd never say something that stupid.

Goddamn Chicken Loser.

I've had it with his stupid life. I have to go home. I might be surrounded by sell-outs, but at least I have TV and my computer to salve the pain of being the only one who knows anything about anything.

I'm making The Signal.

* * *

The first thing #26 became aware of when the smoke settled was that the world looked distinctly less pixelated than it had. 

"One week?" a familiar voice asked sternly. "You lasted _one week_?"

"Everyone in town was being tough on me because I was the new guy," he muttered sulkily.

"No dice, Bunky," Rhianwen cackled, hauling the strongly scented, trench coat-clad boy from the floor. "No one in town knew that you were anyone other than their own dear Rick. They treated you exactly as they would have treated him. At least, as they would have treated him if he had suddenly morphed into a mindlessly petulant, rude, offensive, horrifically lazy little wombat."

"Why does your hair smell like Vick's Vapo-Rub?" Elli-Bashing Doctor Fangirl #89 was meanwhile asking, nose wrinkled.

#26 looked up.

"It's the Vick's brand hair gel Elli gave me. She's the only person in town who even tried to be nice to me. She's really not that bad."

"How true, how true," Rhianwen sighed, a sentimental tear forming in the corner of her eye, as #89 rolled her eyes in disgust. "I've never loved Elli more than I do at this moment." Then she cleared her throat. "You did manage to find some time in your busy schedule of being Dark and Dangerous to record some observations, didn't you?"

"Yeah, here," he muttered, cheek resting listlessly on one fist, pulling the little hardcover scribbler from his pocket with his free hand and tossing it across the table at her. "What the hell took you so long to get me out of there, anyway?"

Rhianwen looked up, startled.

"Uh, what? I got you out as soon as you made the signal."

"No way! I was making the signal for, like, half an hour before you did anything!"

She sighed.

"Are you sure you were making the signal the right way? Because you know, writhing in the sublime angst of your very being and shouting Metallica lyrics at the ceiling doesn't translate very well into pixel. For most of the time before you finally made the signal, you just looked kind of like a constipated wiener dog."

"Whatever," #26 huffed. "Can I go now?"

"Yeah, I guess," Rhianwen pouted. "But before you do, did you learn anything from this experience?"

#26 rolled his eyes, arms crossed, leaning back in his chair until #13, #46, and #89 whispered between themselves bets on how long it would take before it shot completely out from under him.

"Yeah; I learned that Rick's a stupid loser who fucked up his own life so badly that even someone like me can't fix it."

Rhianwen rubbed her eyes wearily behind her glasses.

"I doubt _someone like you _could fix a meal of two peanut butter sandwiches and a glass of milk without a cookbook."

"Peanut butter's for sellouts," #26 scoffed.

Rhianwen stared, utterly lost, for a few seconds, then shook her head.

"Look, just...here. Take your Whitewolf book and go."

"Later, losers," he smirked, departing.

"Um, Rhianwen?" #89 piped up. "Can I go next? I really want to see the Doctor..."

A toothy, rather frightening grin crossed Rhianwen's face.

"Ah! We have a volunteer..."

* * *

End Notes: Okay, so I was lying through my teeth when I said that Rhianwen wouldn't appear in the story again. What can I say? Even bad fan authors like them their screentime. XD 

Also, once again, I do not own #26. Everything about him was shamelessly lifted from 90 of the Rick-bashing Karen fanboy community.

Oh, and one last thing: I might do a few more characters. Popuri, because I kind of like her when she's not being Sueified to justify bashing Rick; Muffy, because I have to wonder if other people were playing the same game as me with some of the idiotic descriptions I've seen of her; and maybe Bob, if I feel like it.


End file.
